So that’s it for another year. Manchester United concede two stunning goals in the second half and all hope of securing another Champions League trophy evaporate for yet another year.
(If the words Nou Camp and Sir Matt Busby mean nothing to you. Or understanding the offside law is equivalent to deciphering Fermat’s Last Theorem, then I suggest you walk away right now. Come back for the next blog which might be about high heels and handbags…)
As a lifelong Manchester United fan I have been fortunate enough to enjoy many successes over the years. The club has a strong tradition of winning a trophy every season (Arsenal fans, take note). This season however, seemed to be heading in a different direction from the start. There hasn’t been much investment in the club in recent times and as a result, there have been gaping holes in key positions at the club (such as central midfield) and a dependence on senior players, a few of whom should have long since retired.
With such weaknesses in the squad this season in particular, overwhelming success was not particularly expected and Chelski’s status as the bookie’s favourites for the league title was a pretty fair assessment. However, when you have the greatest manager in the history of the game, he can sometimes be prone to acts of sorcery. Confounding most pundits’ early season expectations, Sir Alex led a squad labelled as average to a 19th League title. Leaving Arsenal’s Infants and Chelski’s Geriatrics in his dust.
As if such an achievement was not enough, we also found ourselves in the Champions’ League Final for the third time in 4 seasons. The problem was that we were facing Barcelona, who on their day are the most unplayable side the world have ever seen. The head would naturally tell you to relax, enjoy the game, be grateful you are in the final, don’t raise your expectations too high. This is not a vintage United Squad and as such should be expected to emerge victorious against the most elite XI that ever walked this earth. However, our Creator cursed us with a heart that gives us hope. Hope that told us that anything can happen in football and we shall once again lift the trophy affectionately known as Big Ears!
Lacking match-fitness, Darren Fletcher found other ways to contribute to the cause.
The match kicks off and the tension is so thick it would require an industrial heavy-duty chain saw to cut it. The hope that I had previously been merely flirting with before the match was now making out with me as Manchester United spent almost all of the first ten minutes in Barcelona’s penalty area. Alas, it was not to last. Barcelona eventually found their footing and once they got into their stride, it wasn’t long before they converted one of the chances they had started creating almost at will. A familiar feeling of impending doom began to sink in. 2 years ago we faced Barcelona in the Final and were defeated 2-0. This was supposed to be the realisation of our vengeance!
Wayne Rooney, perhaps remembering the bitter taste of defeat and determined to avoid a second helping took matters into his own hands and charged into the Barcelona penalty area, playing a quick one-two with 37 year old Ryan Giggs, before blasting it home beyond the Barcelona goalkeeper! 1-1! Game on!
Half-time allowed some respite from the drama and an opportunity to take stock of the situation. Both Manchester United and Barcelona had won this trophy on 3 previous occasions each. Whoever wins this game instantly leapfrogs the other in the history books. 45 minutes gone and we have acquitted ourselves well. 45 minutes to go with the score at 1-1! If someone offered that to me before the match, I would have bitten their arm and shoulder off! 45 minutes away from immortality! Sir Alex Ferguson was on the verge of becoming a legend to legends!
The second half was sheer misery. Someone must have served the Barcelona players Red Bull spiked with the urine of Zeus himself. Our players simply didn’t show up for the second half at all. Interestingly enough though, our defenders kept their shape well and Barcelona were still unable to pass their way through our centre-backs which is their usual route to goal. So naturally they decided to take a couple of shots from outside the box. And scored both.
With the score at 3-1, the writing was on the wall. The last minute comebacks that this club was famed for were not looking very likely against the possession football of Barcelona. By the time the final whistle blew, it was almost a relief to have the stress over and done with. As predicted and expected, Barcelona lifted the trophy while Manchester United players and fans looked on with begrudging respect that the better team had one.
I believe it is indisputable that there has never been a superior group of players to collectively kick a football. There is no shame to lose to such a great team. As a Manchester United fan, I can be proud of my team for being the most successful in England having won more trophies than any others (yes Liverpool fans, that includes you). We defied all expectations this season and so deserve to hold our heads up high. We must forget the despair of the Champions’ League Final and turn our focus to rebuilding and relaunching yet another attack on the crown next season.
But as John Cleese once famously said, “It’s not the despair, I can deal with the despair. It’s the hope…”
This is the encapsulation of our feelings.
I am Enygma 